The Circular Ruins 1.2

After years of study with the Administrators, alone with his Power Source, Monitor and Mouse,

the Wizard began writing. Equations, numbers and letters, symbols he had short-cut to

his Keyboard like tattoos or sable fur, all these things he placed into Memory.

He was able to work without much rest, had stocked a bank account and accrued interest,

had his groceries: fruits, nuts, rice, and milk, delivered to his door.

The windows stayed closed to keep Samaritans from causing mischief,

but the blinds stayed up so the Wizard could survey his progress.

Each day started with a few Strokes across the Keys, clicking in the sunrise,

as the light lingered higher and lower he would ebb and flow his speed.

Always Troubleshooting, sometimes not construction so much as conversation,

Discussing the Algorithms, noting each other’s limitations, capacity to evolve.

His Application must begin to breathe. As the Text he etched developed, he began to convert it to a Model.

Death watched through the crack beneath his front door.

Soon, the Pascal, Python, secret Languages he wrote himself, ran into each other,

slid into the crevices. He decided his Task had reached the torrential stage,

and opened his Mainframe to the Network. Shadowless people and other Wizards

at first feared, misunderstood what they perceived to be a chasm of Data. 

They mocked him, roasted his U in Forums and trolled his Requests.

The Wizard had anticipated this, his Spiders already searching for instances of warmth.

Soon he collected his Followers and Slaves. They combined their Bandwidth and became his mouths,

posting and composing for him, their Hits escalated, more joined, the tubes grew.

The Wizard returned to his labors, struggling with the final step, the dangerous spark,

which could wipe away as much as it could create. His arms continued to wither;

his beard hung long and wispy on his lap; his room echoed with clicks, gasps

when the Wizard remembered to breathe. The sun paled for him and

his groceries piled up, were scavenged, piled up again. Even among his beloved followers

doubt spread, until he released the Key and the Contributions flowed full Open Source up the mountain.

Veins opened, were patched, any fragments of material deemed extraneous were deleted.

Truly, no one suspected his end goal, his miracle applied intravenously to the world

was not a man in the alpha build. One, rather, at the next stage of development

because he was constructed of all the Bits of Man. And yet he was not of men,

he served no more purpose for men than a brief breeze. 

Those who could grasp the Code marveled, suspected

the Wizard, and yet none could quite conceive what existed.

When the authorities arrived, they found a child half awake.

Her Voice had broken into a human binary

of "lololololol."